


Imaginary Lover

by bees_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bubble Bath, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dream Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, M/M, Secret Relationship, first time anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of a long day there's only one place Dean wants to be and that's asleep. Not because he needs his Z's, but because it's the only place that he can be with Castiel and live out his fantasies. Sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me', but can easily stand alone.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Imaginary Lover

*****

"Those are some ugly sons of bitches." Dean levels his shotgun at the lead chupacabra and opens fire, sending it tumbling backwards towards its buddies. The scent of blood, even if it is that of their own, drives them nuts. They leap forward and tear into their former pack leader, which makes mowing down the rest of them a cake-walk.

"Burn or bury?" he asks Sam as he ejects the spent cartridges and loads a couple of fresh ones, just in case something else is lurking unseen among the sage brush and cactus. 

Sam glances around at what passes for the scenery. "It's pretty dry out here. We'd have to hang around half the night to keep on eye on things if we burn, and we're supposed to leave at dawn to head back to Bobby's. I vote we bury and get the hell back to town." 

"I can't argue with that." Dean retrieves the collapsible spades from the trunk of the Impala and hands one of them off to Sam before unfolding the other one and setting to work. He spares a glance at the still twitching pile of carcasses and curls his lip in disgust at the desert predators. Usually, chupacabras were lone hunters and didn't cause a lot of trouble. But when mating season rolled around, every ten years or so, they got aggressive. "You should have stuck to cows and left the cowboys alone," he remarks as he picks up the first of the dead creatures and drops it into the trough.

They don't waste a lot of time on the burial. They're openly trespassing on a piece of property that's been prominently marked with 'Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight" signs and the ground is hard packed from a lack of recent rain. The trench they dig is just deep enough to conceal the bodies under about six inches of sandy soil and tumble weeds. All the same, Dean's wiping sweat out of his eyes and he's ready for a shower and a beer when they're finished. 

They ride back to town with the windows down. The scent of sage brush on the night air helps clear some of the gamey chupacabra musk out of his nose and citrus-scented shower gel, once they get back to the motel, takes care of the rest. Sam cracks open the beers as Dean finishes up in the bathroom. They talk for a few minutes, winding down after their busy day, then kill the lights and crash for the night.

***

When he opens his eyes, Dean is lounging in an aluminum and canvas folding deck chair in front of a driftwood campfire. There's miles of placid ocean in front of him and high cliffs punctuated by wind-sheared pines at his back. At his side is a cooler stocked with beer and hot dogs. He opens a package of 100% beef franks, sticks a couple of them on a barbecue fork, and props the fork over the flames before unscrewing the cap off a beer and taking a pull. He hears the soft scrape of footsteps over the sand and frowns when he locates their source.

Castiel has arrived. He's walking slowly along the surf-line, careful not to get his shoes wet as he tracks the progress of a boat motoring out to sea. Dark clouds are billowing up over his head, blotting out the pale afternoon sunshine and threatening to spoil the day with a rain shower. 

He looks like hell. He needs a shave worse than usual and his face is drawn, as if he hasn't slept in weeks. Dean reaches for another beer, but his hand closes around the neck of a bottle of Jack Daniels instead. He unscrews the cap and hands it to Cas, who accepts it gratefully and tips it back, his throat working as he takes a long hit. 

"Tough day at the office?" Dean asks. 

Cas gives him a look that says he doesn't want to get into it, which is no more than Dean expects, and raises the bottle again. He wipes his hand over his mouth after he downs another inch of whiskey and notices the clouds over his head. "Sorry." He closes his eyes for a second and makes a dismissive gesture with his right hand. The clouds roll out to sea before disappearing entirely. 

Dean shrugs and puts the hot dogs on buns before squirting mustard over them. "Here," he offers one to Cas with a smile. "Take a load off and eat that." 

"Thanks." Cas settles in a chair next to Dean that wasn't there a moment before. He contemplates the hot dog for a second and then bites down on it with a sigh.

They concentrate on their meal, drinking beer, eating more hot dogs, and occasionally passing the whiskey bottle back and forth. Eventually Cas brushes crumbs from his tie and offers Dean a weary smile. "Thanks you. For this." He glances around the cove. "It's beautiful here. Where are we?" 

"Oregon coast." Dean points out to sea. "When I was about fifteen I came out here with Dad and Sammy. There was a haunted fishing boat luring divers to their watery graves." He remembers how much fun he and Sam had messing around on the beach after the bones of the fishermen had been toasted, and smiles. Things had seemed so simple then. Not like now where everything he did and everywhere he turned there was a potential minefield. "Good times." 

A stiff breeze blows in off the water as the sun fades, making the flames dance and the skin on his arms raise in goosebumps. It's going to get downright nippy if they stay out on the sand much longer. He tips his head towards the tent that's set up behind them and offers his hand. "Let's go in." 

The tent is straight out of Harry Potter; nothing much to look at on the outside, but its battered canvas exterior hides all sorts of goodies. There's a cozy fire to keep the teeth rattling wind at bay, a fridge full of beer and snacks, a big comfy bed and a hot tub to soak away their aches and pains. 

Dean smiles modestly. "It's not much, but I think it'll do." 

He moves to stand at Castiel's back and eases the trench coat from his shoulders, tossing it so it lands on one of a pair of mismatched easy chairs. He runs his hand lightly along the top of Cas's shoulders and across the nape of his neck and feels tension bunching the muscles underneath the rumpled cotton dress shirt. 

Cas drops his head, silently encouraging Dean to keep touching him so lets his fingers dip under the obstructing shirt collar and finds the muscles underneath are one solid tension knot. He digs in, getting a grunt and then a relieved sigh for his efforts. The shirt is a pain and needs to go. Keeping one hand on Cas's shoulder, Dean shifts so they are standing face to face. 

His hands no longer tremble as he slowly slips each button free until the shirt hangs loose and open. He pushes it off Cas's shoulders and tosses it, without paying attention, in the general direction of the chair, not really caring if he hits his target or not. 

It's weird, really, Dean thinks as he pulls off his tee shirt and adds it to the growing pile of clothes, how in synch they are in their shared dream-verse. They move unerringly from the entryway of the tent to the hot tub, never missing a step as they lock lips and kiss their way across the room, stripping the rest of the way down as they go. If only things could be this easy between them when Cas was dirtside, but they never really seemed to catch a break. The only time they saw each other was when a crisis was looming, and then they either bit each others heads off because tensions were running high, or avoided each other, because they were afraid of saying some they shouldn't.

They manage to get into the tub without splashing too much water over the sides. Dean pulls Cas down in front of a bank of jets so the pulsing massage action can work its magic. Then with a grin, he straddles Cas's thighs. When he interlaces his fingers around Cas's neck and swivels his hips in an impromptu lap dance, he doesn't quite get the response he hopes for. 

The lines around Cas's eyes deepen as he frowns. "What are you doing?" 

Dean shrugs. He's taken Cas to a strip club before, it should be obvious. "I'm dancing. This is my sexy dance." Yet another cultural reference goes zipping over Cas's head much to Dean's disappointment. "One of these days, we really do have to sit down and watch Buffy." 

Cas's frown deepens. "Remind me. Who's Buffy?"

Dean chuckles. "Not who. What. It's a sitcom about a vampire slayer and her wacky adventures." 

"What's funny about vampires?" Cas asks, deadly serious. 

Dean pauses. From his standpoint, not a whole hell of a lot. A choice between wasting his time explaining why he finds the exploits of the Sunnydale Slayer and her Scooby Gang hilarious and turning Cas into a boneless mass of contentment, is no choice at all. "Nothing. Skip it." He dips in again, grinding his dick against Cas's belly as they kiss. 

The sound he gets in reply is pretty damn needy. Dean loves it when Cas makes that sound. It means that he's finally starting to let go and really unwind. 

"That's right, baby," Dean whispers hoarsely against Cas's ear. "There's no one to hear, so make as much noise as you want." 

He reaches out and gropes for a button on the side of the tub and manages to hit it on the third try. A splash of oil hits the jets, blowing sweet, woodsy-scented bubbles over the surface of the water.

"Is that frankincense?" Cas asks. A dippy smile starts to bow his lips and Dean knows he's scored double plus points. Frankincense isn't only good for grounding spells, it also works as an angelic aphrodisiac.

Dean shrugs modestly. "I always say go with the classics."

Evidently, Cas agrees. He pounces, pinning Dean to the side of the tub as he starts a new round of tonsil hockey. He likes to use his tongue in interesting ways, so Dean yields, letting Cas take the lead. Eventually he breaks off and begins to kiss a meandering line from Dean's ear to his torso, creating sharp pulses of pleasure that travel straight to his dick every time Cas drifts to a new place and explores its possibilities. 

Cas likes to be mouthed on his sensitive spots; a little tongue and suction action gets him squirming. Dean guides Cas's arms over his head and goes to town, gently tugging his pit hair and then licking the skin beneath. Cas groans and turns away, planting his arms against the edge of the tub and offering his back. 

Dean grins. He's never had a lover who gets off on having their back played with as much as Cas does. As he plants his lips against Cas's nape, drawing his lips and then his tongue over the spot where the spine meets the skull, he wonders if that's an angel thing, because of their wings. 

If Cas had his wings when he was in human form, what it would be like to have sex with him? Would his feathers be hard and stiff, or soft and downy? Would they make him sneeze if he got a face full or were angel feathers hypoallergenic?

"I don't actually have feathers," Cas says, even though Dean hadn't actually spoken out loud. "You humans just perceive us that way. " 

Dean runs his fingertips along Cas's spine, over his shoulder blades, and down his back where wings would join, wondering if Cas had read his mind or his body language. "Yeah, of course you don't. And you hate it when I do this." 

He sucks on sensitive spot number two, mid spine between the shoulder blades, and chuckles softly as Cas shudders and moans, "Dean!" with undisguised pleasure. 

"Need more?" Dean straightens and reaches around, pulling Cas against his chest, then he takes his dick in hand so that he can play with it. The frankincense oil has made the water silky. His palm slides easily over Cas's hard on, and as he leans forward, his own dick rides easily over Cas's skin until he's grazing the crack between his butt cheeks. 

Dean hesitates for a couple of seconds. They haven't fooled around _that_ much and this is virgin territory for both of them. He decides to go for it, shifts his hips again, and lets his dick slide forward. 

He's watched enough gay porn – especially the kind featuring straight guys that are bi-curious – for research purposes to know he needs to ease his way in rather than just ramming his dick home. So he plays with Cas's hard on and ass some more to get him good and worked up. When he's sure they're both ready, he separates Cas's cheeks, aims his dick, and goes for it. 

Passing through the tight ring of muscle nearly does them both in. Cas gasps loudly in surprise and arches his back, but he doesn't pull away. Dean takes that as a sign to keep going. He pulls almost out and then pushes back in again, driving his dick even deeper. 

"Damn," he whispers softly. The guys in the videos hadn't been exaggerating for the camera. It really does feel _that_ good. He pets the base of Cas's spine, knowing how much he likes to be touched there and asks, "You okay with this?"

Cas nods but he's tense and he seems uncertain, so Dean pulls out. It's not a big deal. He wasn't that sure about it himself and there are plenty of other things they can be doing. 

"Maybe we should get out of the bath," Cas suggests.

The interior of the tent wobbles a little bit and the next thing Dean knows, he and Cas are reclining face to face on the bed. He reaches out and strokes Cas's cheek before kissing him and finds that their skin is still silky from the bubble bath, even if they've been magically toweled dry. He hooks one leg over Cas's lower body and climbs on top of him, bumping their dicks together as he dips forward so they can keep kissing. 

Dry humping Cas's front feels almost as good as rubbing off against his ass cheeks. Cas is down with it too, if the look on his face is anything to go by. Making Cas happy is what Dean wants most, so he keeps rocking forward and back, brushing their dicks and chests against each other. He loves the feeling of Cas's skin against his, amazed at how it's not just his dick that feels good. Places on his body he's never really thought of as sexual become aroused when Cas touches him. Even the skin over his belly, which can be painfully ticklish, feels erotically charged as they move against one another. 

Cas reaches up to grip Dean's shoulders before pulling him down for a long, toe curling kiss that leaves them both breathless. When they pull apart he regards Dean expectantly. "I thought you were going to sodomize me." 

The middle of sex is not the easiest time to get poker faced, but Dean does his best to hide his confusion. He recovers well enough to smile a naughty smile and bats his eyelashes a couple of times for good measure. "Why, Cas –" He can't help going overboard, drawling his words like a Hollywood actresses doing an impression of a Southern belle. "– I do love it when you talk dirty." 

"Do you?" Cas looks as if he's making a mental note as yet another joke goes flying over his head. 

They're on the verge of getting off track. Dean shrugs, dropping the act. "Some times. Yeah. It makes you more – " He hesitates, groping for the right word. What he wants to say is 'human' because in his head that translates as less intimidating, but Cas could take that wrong and Dean doesn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Accessible," he says before rolling off of Cas's chest and propping himself up on an elbow. Maybe it's a dumb worry, but he has to ask. "If I do, is someone liable to smite us or turn us into pillars of salt?" He'd seen that happen once, and it wasn't a pretty sight. 

It's Cas's turn to raise an eyebrow and shrug. Dean gets his point. They're so far over the line in terms of how angels and humans are supposed to interact, it's doubtful that if the boom falls, that anyone is going to get picky over details. He scoots over until they are once again skin to skin and tosses his leg wantonly over Dean's thigh. "Fuck me, Dean," he rasps hoarsely. "I know you want to." 

Dean swallows hard. His dick twitches. Damn, he really does get off on Cas talking dirty. He mentally reviews his porn research as he kisses a trail from Cas's Adam's apple to his belly, coming to rest between his legs. 

A bottle of lube appears next to his hand. Nervously, he pumps out enough gel that the air gets heavy with the balsam-smell of frankincense. For a few seconds, the scenery changes. They're laying on a blanket and surrounded by a circle of evergreens. Dean blinks and they're back in bed again. He files the moment away, wondering if Cas is a closet nature boy or if that was his fantasy, buried so deep inside his head he didn't even know he wanted it. He hauls Cas's legs into position, so they rest against his shoulders, and seeks a final reassurance. "You stop me if you don't like it, okay?"

Cas nods and Dean takes aim. 

He slips right in and the heat and the pressure around his dick are just as good as they were the first time. He gives himself a slow ten count to catch his breath and for Cas to get used to being stretched in a way that's got to be completely unfamiliar to him.

All systems seem to be go, so he pulls part way out and pushes back in again. "Baby, you have got to try this," he whispers, amazed he can make actual words and experience what he's experiencing at the same time. He settles Cas's legs more comfortably over his shoulders and starts to thrust.

Porn has taught him that there's more to ass-fucking then blindly poking his dick in and pulling it out again. He needs to find that spot that made those guys in the videos moan and beg for more. Adding a little swivel to his hips as he pistons forwards seems to do the trick. Cas exposes his throat as he pushes his head and shoulders against the pillows and sucks in air through his teeth. 

Hoping it wasn't a fluke, Dean leans back and then rolls forward again. Cas opens his eyes long enough to mutter, "Oh, fuck, yeah," before going back to grunting in time with Dean's thrusts. When he reaches for his dick and starts to play with it, Dean gulps as a wave of lust rides over his body and robs him of his breath. 

Catching another guy with his hand on his dick has never done anything to him before but made him embarrassed. Now, he's mesmerized, and he can't pull his eyes away. Cas beating off as he's being fucked is … 

There are no words. 

Dean stares openly, memorizing every detail he can as he watches Cas's palm ride the length of his shaft and grip the head before slipping down towards his balls for another pass, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he can talk him into a repeat performance. Preferably when he's less busy trying not to prematurely blow his wad. 

He closes his eyes, focusing his energy on keeping his thrusts riding over that sweet spot as he buries himself in heat. He's going to come before he wants to, he knows it. He can feel his balls climbing and the tension pooling against his spine, but he wants Cas to get there first, so he thinks of chupacabras.

A whiff of rancid musk hits his nostrils. Bad idea. They're in a dreamscape where anything can happen. Quickly, Dean banishes the thought. Fortunately, Cas is too busy to notice. He's sucking his lower lip between his teeth and occasionally taking ragged breaths, on the verge of losing it too. 

"Come on, baby," Dean urges as he pumps his hips. "Don't fight the feeling. Just let go." 

Cas's hand stills and then he spurts over his chest, too lost to notice what a mess he's making. 

Dean thrusts hard, one last time, and then follows over the cliff. Sheathed as tightly as he is, he can feel his dick pulse as he comes. It's still jerking when he pulls out, untangles himself from Cas's legs, and collapses onto the bed next to him. "Good?" he asks breathlessly.

It's a stupid question, because Dean has eyes and he can see that Cas is a sweaty, blush-stained mess, same as he is. And he knows damn well how fantastic he feels. But it's considerate to ask, especially since they've never done what they just did before. 

Cas nods mutely in reply. He nestles close and uses his fingertips to trace patterns over Dean's skin. 

Dean leans down and brushes damp hair from Cas's forehead before kissing him. He shuts his eyes and fades out, completely at peace ...

***

… and wakes up abruptly because Sam has just shaken the hell out of his shoulder.

"What? What is it?" He looks around, completely befuddled. Castiel is no where to be seen. He's alone in bed in a crappy West Texas motor inn that's decorated with sagebrush and cactus wallpaper, and Sammy is looking at him like he's more than a little worried.

"Crack of dawn," Sam explains. "You wanted to hit the road at first light, remember?" He glances away and then back again, searching Dean's face. "Are you all right? You were moaning in your sleep just before I woke you up, like you were having a nightmare."

Dean buries his head in his hands. This is his nightmare, or more accurately his life, roaming the countryside with a brother he was so co-dependent on that even strangers commented. He rubs his eyes for a minute, but can't muster then enthusiasm for chasing the sun as it rises in the eastern sky. He glances up and gives Sam a nonchalant shrug. "Nope. Tell you what though, I could really use another hour or so of bunk time." He glances pointedly at the door. 

"Oh … uh... right." Sam nods back as he finally gets Dean's meaning. He shuts the lamp off and lets himself quietly out of the motel room, leaving Dean to his own devices. 

In the darkness, Dean stares up at the ceiling. Sweat and come are drying on his skin, making him shiver in the cool pre-dawn air. He pulls the bedclothes up higher against his chest to ward off the chill, closes his eyes, and dreams his way back to the Oregon Coast where, hopefully, Castiel is still waiting.

End


End file.
